


The Blackest Sun

by bludraven



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Death, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grieving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bludraven/pseuds/bludraven
Summary: After recent events reader finds themselves looking back over their time with the Hephaestus’ favorite resident evil genius.





	The Blackest Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this isn’t nearly as lighthearted as the summary made it seem.

You were staring out the window.  
The stars outside stopped looking so bright a long time ago and somehow even the giant burning blue ball didn’t seem all that blinding anymore.  
There was a deafening silence in the observatory that seemed to be echoing in your brain. It was like there should be something there… or rather someone there.  
You remember being there a few months ago, remember seeing him handcuffed and sat there on the floor and hoping he’d choke on those self satisfied explanations and sarcastic chuckles, remember hoping that Minkowski would change her mind and just kill the bastard.  
How the tables have turned.  
Now you would give anything to see his lying, cheating, serious face again, to wrap your arms around him and press your head into his large chest and hear that amoral, freezing cold heart of his beat.  
You’d always had an inclination for the darkness. You liked petting the monsters and you couldn’t help but falling for the big bad wolves.  
You loved him.  
The man who could have killed all of you, the one who had killed Lovelace’s crew, that was the man who was making you tear up.  
Because that was your monster.  
You recalled the moments you’d spent together… alone. After all the yelling and cursing and pretending not to feel anything came the reeling back, the deep breaths and deeper stares. Then there were confessions and bitter silence and light touches and measured words. By the time command had come to the rescue there were tongues and 3 a.m. visits and trying very hard not be so close to each other and pretending not to worry about how alive the other was.  
You would watch him after he’d dozed off sometimes. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the soft expression of his rough face.  
It was therapy in a sense; realizing he was just skin and bones and blue veins and a mix of both your lovers spit. He was just a man.  
It was also strange. How he stopped looking like Dr. Hilbert, how he didn’t look like a doctor at all. He just looked worn and secretly in love and unsure… he always looked unsure.  
You thought he would end up killing you one of these days; strangle you with kisses, take apart your overthinking brain with calm logical words laced in a Russian accent, bury you under his body, intoxicate you with the smell of his skin.  
The last time you’d been together you both had whispered about the plan, about what would happen after you got back to Earth. You could still hear him switch the Ws for Vs in every “we” he spoke. There was a we. Both Jackal and Hyde had fallen.  
You had thought about telling him you loved him that night. You didn’t though.  
But you did love him…how you loved him.  
He was brilliant and unstoppable and he fucked like a god and failed like a king and begged liked a bitch and apologized like a little boy and you loved him.  
And then he blew up.  
Goddamn it. He blew up.  
You couldn’t see his pale face and you couldn’t feel his frigid fingers one last time because there was none of that anymore.  
There was only cerebellum and rubble and dry brown blood and the stench of death mingling with smoke and recycled air.  
There was no more lover.  
There was only you staring out the observatory window.  
They say hell lies under us, little did they know it was in the stars the whole time.


End file.
